


spring days, yellow haze

by roseticos



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety Attacks, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, but it’s also cute and soft so don’t worry, hi i project onto my characters, minor characters: rest of ‘96 + hao, one (1) curse word, or: soon and jun are in love and no one is supposed to know, secret love life bc people are jerks, these things are mostly precautionary k bye, unrated bc of certain aspects:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:51:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseticos/pseuds/roseticos
Summary: jun doesn’t know if anyone is looking, if anyone can hear, if anyone cares, so he grabs soonyoung by the collar and kisses him, the tremble in his hands stilling sweetly in the spring rains.





	spring days, yellow haze

**Author's Note:**

> soonyoung is a caring and loving boyfriend and i couldn’t love him more for that. also, i’m sorry i wrote this instead of working on already published things but,, this is nice and i’m ready to share it.

one time, a few months into the school year, a freshman in junhui’s cello section told him he needed to talk more. jun told her that he was working on it,  that he did talk to people that he was friends with, to which the conductor laughed and decided that it was funny to joke that jun wasn’t friends with his section. 

 

jun has three friends. he sits by all of them at lunch. wonwoo doesn’t talk as much, either, always reading his book and studying, but jun thinks he’s really cool. jihoon is so short that it’s funny, but he takes lunch in the orchestra room more than he does in the actual cafeteria. then, there’s soonyoung, who is kind of his boyfriend. 

 

soonyoung has soft hair, sparkly eyes, and squishy cheeks. his laugh is a firework show, exploding in the air and lighting up his gaze. junhui adores him, pinches his cheeks, plays with his fingers, even if he talks with his hands. soonyoung loves him, too. unlike the others, jun is allowed to rest on soonyoung and hug his arm, laying his head on his shoulder so that he can pet his hair.

 

though he is very outgoing and tactile with others, soonyoung is uncomfortable when others initiate skinship with him. if he wants a hug, he likes to be the one giving it— unless it’s junhui, who is the love of his life, or something like that.

 

-

 

there’s blood on junhui’s fingertips, and he isn’t sure why. maybe it’s from his lip that he keeps biting, pulling at the skin until there’s red underneath his nails. it hurts and stings— he knows he shouldn’t do it— but it’s so  _ easy _ and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when he’s nervous. he’s always nervous.

 

he never knows who to talk to or what to say, so he always sits by the wall, swimming in yellow fabric as his thoughts wash out the sound of his teacher, picking his lip until it bleeds. 

 

even though it hurts a lot, it hurts less than a cut to his legs will, so it’s enough to keep him sane. he knows he shouldn’t do it but it’s easy when his nails have jagged edges. if he wants to stop, he’ll have to trim them. but he’s okay.

 

the only thing that jun hopes for is that the boy next to him doesn’t notice that, oh, there’s literal blood on his hands. fortunately, they don’t really say anything to each other. they’re only acquaintances; jun can’t remember his name, most days.

 

he’s not sure it matters, anyway.

 

-

 

an hour before first period begins, it rains. it doesn’t sprinkle like spring showers do sometimes, misty and dripping from the overhang of the courtyard. it pours, roaring in junuhui’s ears as the wind whips at his hair, even from underneath their cover. 

 

the courtyard is empty. only the nearby library is close to occupied, but even then, it’s too early. the picnic tables are dry enough to sit at and close to the building, just out of reach of the tormenting waves outside. 

 

jun rests his head in soonyoung’s lap, gentle smile gracing his lips as his boyfriend fiddles with his flying strands of hair, distracted by his phone. knowing it will only tangle, jun separates his hand from his hair and holds his hand, watching as a soft grin appears.

 

the wind suddenly picks up, startling the blond who tenses and lets out a scream barely audible over the weather. junhui laughs. he’s so lucky. 

 

“soonyoung!” jun screeches, begging to a god that his voice is heard. “i love you!”

 

when he squeals again, it’s out of joy. soonyoung pinches his cheek. “i love you too, junnie!”

 

jun doesn’t know if anyone is looking, if anyone can hear, if anyone cares, so he grabs soonyoung by the collar and kisses him, the tremble in his hands stilling sweetly in the spring rains.

 

-

 

“why do you wear that sweatshirt every day?” jun’s table partner asks one day, eyeing the yellow clothing with mild distaste. his name is minghao. or something. jun still doesn’t remember.

 

jun doesn’t want to tell minghao why he wears soonyoung’s yellow sweatshirt every day. he doesn’t want to say that it’s  _ technically _ soonyoung’s in the first place and that he only gives it back on certain weekends so that he can make it smell like him again. 

 

he doesn’t want to mention how safe it makes him feel because minghao doesn’t care about that. no one cares that having long sleeves covering his hands helps his anxiety, that he thinks the sweatshirt is cute, that it reminds him of happier things like sunflowers and summer, that it’s comfy and warm.

 

whatever he tells minghao will dissipate in the air and never be heard again. unless he thinks it’s gross, minghao genuinely does not care. it won’t be brought up, he won’t be teased for it, but he still lies.

 

“i get cold easily,” jun mutters, pulling at his sleeves. he laughs, wants to make it sound genuine, “this school is freezing, you know?”

 

fooled, minghao chuckles. “valid. it looks pretty good. like a trademark.”

 

jun thinks it’s a compliment. “thanks,” he says, and minghao returns to his classwork.

 

-

 

“junnie…”

 

he pushes his hand away. “it’s fine, soon—“

 

“baby, your lip’s gonna swell up. that must hurt so much…”

 

“not really,” he lies.

 

“give me your hand. junnie they’re shaking so much and there’s blood! this isn’t okay, alright? you need to trim your nails… do it tonight— or i’m coming over to do it myself, okay?”

 

jun sighs. soonyoung pouts.

 

“jun, please. this is important. take care of yourself before something bad happens. junnie, please promise. jun.  _ junhui _ .”

 

-

 

the next time it rains, jun waits for soonyoung in the orchestra room, just inside the doorway and waiting for the waterfall to stop. at the end of the day, students leave one by one, many with instruments, and they walk past him. 

 

he pulls his yellow sleeves over his hands, losing himself in its comfort and color. leaning against the doorframe, he pulls his knees to his chest and waits.

 

jun waits for soonyoung to call for him dramatically from the band room, to run through the rain to take him away from there, to sweep him off his feet like the savior he has always been. he waits for him to clutch his hand, to pull him under the overhang, into a kiss. 

 

half an hour after the final bell, jihoon joins him in observing the grim weather, violin case resting at his feet. he pats his hand, promises soonyoung. another ten minutes pass. he leaves.

 

anxiety pools in his stomach, heart aching behind his ribs. if anyone talks to him, he fears he may sob. it keeps raining and raining and raining so junhui thinks he’s going to drown without soonyoung to pull him to his feet. 

 

seeking comfort, jun presses the sleeve of his yellow sweatshirt to his nose, searching for the lingering scent of soonyoung. when he isn’t sweaty from band practice, his boyfriend always smells sweet, like flowery soaps and citrus hand sanitizer, or fabric softener. rain is musty, damp. it doesn’t give him a sense of clarity and instead puts him in a sad, sleepy haze. it’s not like soonyoung. 

 

an hour after the final bell, jun leaves with his hand empty, the smell of rain in his clothes.  

 

-

 

the school decides that the students need a break before finals and release them two hours early to the football field for a “spring festival,” which is more like an off-brand field day with a popsicle table. 

 

more than half of the school leaves early. the rest clump in small groups on the stands, popsicles in hand while others play on the field. 

 

spring beats down on them on a cloudless day, melting their treats and burning their skin. with his head cushioned by soonyoung’s thighs, jun finishes his frozen chocolate popsicle, keeping it from dripping onto his clothing. the sweatshirt insulated him almost too well.

 

soonyoung’s popsicle matches the yellow of jun’s sweatshirt. the blond licks a long stripe, trying to keep it from getting over his hands. the action is somewhat innocent but undoubtedly adorable, and junhui chuckles around his already clean stick. 

 

jun doesn’t know why, but he wants to kiss him— run his fingers through his hair and  _ kiss him _ . 

 

“don’t laugh at me, baby,” he sulks, taking a bite and jutting out his bottom lip. 

 

“you’re so cute, soonyoung,” the other explains, hushed as if someone will overhear. the top risers are empty, though, their classmates spread across the rows beneath them. 

 

soonyoung’s face is red, but it’s not from the sun.

 

a foreign feeling of confidence bubbles in his chest. “you’re the cutest, and you’re mine, and i wish i could tell the world how much i love you.”

 

soonyoung’s laugh explodes and jun’s heart shakes with joy. “and you will, one day!” he declares, cradling his cheek in his palm. “and i’ll be there with you because i love  _ you _ just as much.”

 

“you’re too good,” jun laments, exaggerating his words.

 

finishing off his popsicle, soonyoung shifts so that he crouches over jun, hovering over him in a rather compromising position from a distance. jun can see that he’s playing and wraps his arms around his neck. he wants  _ so _ many things.

 

“i know,” he smirks, deliberate. “but you’re even better, baby.” the sheer restraint in soonyoung’s eyes is clear to see; jun knows he feels the same. 

 

soonyoung looks past junhui, mischievous grin splitting his face, “y’know that booth over there? that we’re probably not supposed to be in?” jun nods. “i think the door is unlocked.”

 

it is. away from the wandering eyes of students, he can frame his boyfriend’s face properly. their foreheads push together. 

 

soonyoung’s breath fans hot against his face, all pineapple and fruit. he tastes like summer when he finally kisses him, his smaller frame pressed against jun’s, pushing him into the wall.

 

when the blond’s fingers tangle in his hair, jun wants to melt into soonyoung. the only thing he can feel is soonyoung, kissing his lips, pulling at his sweatshirt, combing through his hair, pressing against his body.

 

it’s desperate and clingy and rushed, but it sends junhui’s heart racing and he wants to say  _ “i love you,” _ all over again.

 

-

 

“hey, man,” minghao greets him this time, seemingly in a good mood as he slings off his backpack. “nice sweatshirt.”

 

jun buries himself in yellow, breathing in soonyoung as his cheeks flush.

 

-

 

the tile of the bathroom floor chills his legs, sends the feeling from his feet. they’re trembling and shaking and numb, just like his hands and just like his chest. fingers itching, twitching for something they shouldn’t.

 

it’s hard to keep his sobs quiet. no one is home— he doesn’t know why he has to hide it. surely, hes doing a poor job. he never does anything right. 

 

another urge washes over him, and he can’t help the cry that rips from his throat. he can keep his grip tangled in the fabric of his sweatshirt, but he can’t help the shouting static in his brain and sheer need to  _ hurt _ .

 

his phone is in his pocket, and he remembers what he’s supposed to do. he fumbles for the number and it rings, rings, rings, ri—

 

_ “jun? are y—“ _

 

he holds is breath. “soonyoungie, i’m really scared. e-everything is loud. everything is  _ so fucking loud _ .”

 

_ “baby, where are you? are you hurt?”  _

 

“at home,” he breathes. “and, i don’t know. i really don’t know.”

 

a jagged fingernail rubs over his lip and the healing skin, searching for where it’s sensitive. the phone is set on the toilet next to him so that his clumsy hand doesn’t drop it. 

 

_ “jun, don’t pick your lip, okay?” _

 

fingertips pausing, his hands retracts. “i’m sorry,” he sniffs into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, broken and ugly sounding. when he cries, his words slur together, “soonyoung, i’m so sorry.”

 

_ “do you want me to stay on the phone, baby?” _

 

as if fearing he would hang up, he jolts. “yes! soonyoung, please,” he bawls, kneading at his sweatshirt as his vision fills with yellow. “please don’t leave. don’t leave, it’s so loud…”

 

_ “take a deep breath jun. we’ll be okay. it’ll be better soon.” _

 

-

 

the orchestra concert is over. several hours into the night, jun loosens his bow and replaces his instrument, jihoon chatting animatedly by his side. 

 

“i thought it was okay,” the cellist replies when asked how they did by his shorter friend. 

 

jihoon only gapes, “okay?  _ okay? _ you can’t possibly think that was just ‘okay’.” he takes his music folder and smacks his arm with it, effectively chasing him out of the orchestra room, almost taking to threatening him with the nearest violin he could lay hands on. 

 

“go find your husband, loser!” he calls after him as jun scurries into the dark. “tell him he owes me a front row seat to the percussion concert!”

 

paying him little mind, jun scurries into the theater, into the crowd of parents and students mulling about in the lobby. in a sea of black uniforms, it’s hard to see anyone worth noticing. 

 

fortunately, soonyoung always comes prepared, dressing casually to the event in his yellow sweatshirt so that he stands out from the others. jun’s heart flutters. he really is too good.

 

“soonyoungie!” the cellist shouts over the crowd. “soonie!”

 

the blond turns on his foot, the stars outside shining a little bit brighter when he grins, pushing through those around him to get to his boyfriend. eyes lit up, calling for him, too— it’s everything he needs and more.

 

soonyoung isn’t looking to be subtle, leaping into his taller boyfriend’s arms and wrapping his legs around his waist. jun quickly adjusts as soonyoung buries his face into his neck to place a loving kisses along the skin there. 

 

jun drops him when he’s ready, and soonyoung frames his face with his hands. grin impossibly wide, he showers him in a stream of praise. “you were so good, baby! you guys were amazing, the pieces sounded fantastic. it was worth my night. i’m so, so proud of you. and jihoon.” he grins. “but mostly you.” 

 

pride fills his chest in a place he didn’t realize was even empty. jun can’t describe how happy soonyoung’s support makes him feel, how much it helps him  _ want _ to get better. 

 

hiding the flare in his cheeks, jun mumbles out a shy, “thank you, soon.” he tugs him into a hug, let’s the smell of spring wash over him, the comfort of his love, his soonyoung, and the color yellow.

 

-

 

“so,” minghao brings up, trying to seem casual. “soonyoung was wearing your sweatshirt at the concert yesterday? 

 

worried, jun stammers. “ah, minghao, please don’t tell—“

 

“don’t worry,” he smirks. “you guys are cute together.”

**Author's Note:**

> to anyone who’s struggling: i hope there is someone or something that slips motivate you to be better. life— school— can be stressful and damaging but i know you’ve got it in you! stay safe !
> 
> (thanks for sticking around, i hope this is nice and doesn’t have mistakes.)


End file.
